There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
He sits at the table, familiar face,
but his thoughts are miles away.
His body fills the rooms of home,
his heart has rented another place.
A single choice, carelessly made,
split love into before and after.
Since the betrayal, nothing fits
not the vows, not the laughter.
He wears the mask of a perfect husband,
out of guilt, not devotion.
Kind words rehearsed, smiles practiced,
affection emptied of emotion.
His wife feels the distance in small ways:
the silence between simple talks,
the way his eyes drift elsewhere,
the absence in his presence.
The home once built on warmth and trust
now stands cracked but standing still.
He broke it quietly, with desire,
and guilt became his daily will.
He stays, yet he has already gone
a man divided by his own deceit,
living proof that one bad decision
can turn love into memory.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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